


A mother's love

by The_Forgotten_Nobody



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Chapter 3 has angst and injured d'Artagnan, Gen, Humor, Irritated mother, d'Artagnan embarrassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-13 18:59:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1237459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Forgotten_Nobody/pseuds/The_Forgotten_Nobody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mama d’Artagnan isn’t pleased when her boy doesn’t see fit to come visit her so she decides to go to him and thoroughly embarrass him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't have time to be writing, but it seems that a part of me, really, really does not care. I just really wanted to write something with d'Artagnan's mother because honestly, if she is alive then d'Artagnan really ought to go see her. I'm also slightly ignoring her book portrayal.

Athos observed as d’Artagnan sparred with Aramis.  The boy, whom they had only met mere months ago, had improved in leaps and bounds since joining their close knit group.  Athos was confident that Treville would allow d’Artagnan to become a Musketeer within the year and he took pride in knowing that it was with their help that it was possible.  Beside him, Porthos chuckled as Aramis gave d’Artagnan a false sense of security before knocking him onto his backside.  d’Artagnan looked up at Aramis petulantly whilst the other Musketeer extended a hand to him, offering tips of improvement.  d’Artagnan took that offered hand but instead of allowing himself to be pulled up, took Aramis down with him so he could leap from the ground and place his sword on Aramis’ chest.

Porthos let out a full belly laugh at the site and d’Artagnan looked over to him with a wide grin.  Aramis too was laughing and gracefully accepted the defeat, as cheated as it was.  With no tricks, d’Artagnan hauled Aramis and the two walked over to their companions.  

As they sat, Athos saw d’Artagnan look towards him out of the corner of his eye.  Athos knew it was because, unlike the others, he had made no reactions towards the stunt yet and for some reason, he was the one the boy sought the most approval from.  Why d’Artagnan would choose a man such as he to be his apparent mentor, Athos would never understand, yet he humoured the boy whom he was beginning to grow rather fond of. 

“You need to work on getting out of defence,” he said, “and in a true dual what you just did would not be considered honourable.”  A put out expression fell on d’Artagnan’s face and so he continued.  “However, Aramis has never been particularly honourable himself so I dare say you needn’t worry about that.”  Aramis let out a huff at his words but the quirk of his lips betrayed his humour.  d’Artagnan’s posture eased and he smiled, lifting his sword once more. 

“So, who’s next?” 

“Young man you put that sword down right now!”

d’Artagnan’s eyes widened and the sword would have fallen from his grasp even if the voice hadn’t told him to, the shock he was in.  The four friends all turned towards the source of the sound to see that a few feet away, bounding towards them, was a woman.  She was fairly short, with tan skin and long dark hair tied into a messy bun.  Even from a distance, Athos had no doubt she had been a woman of great beauty in her youth as her aging skin did little to dampen her appearance.  What she was doing there, Athos didn’t know, but apparently, d’Artagnan did.

“Mama?”

Aramis raised an eyebrow to Porthos and mouthed ‘mama?.  In response, Porthos just shrugged and watched the reunion play out in front of them.

“Don’t you ‘mama’ me boy.  Where have you been?!  Do you have any idea what it’s been like since your father died?  I had to sort out all the affairs myself, something I had hoped my son would do in such a time!  But oh no, instead I get a measly letter to find out he has gallivanted off to Paris to become a Musketeer!  And thanks to the work load I was left with I have to wait until everything is sorted until I can go and find him to tell him what an idiotic child he has been!”

d’Artagnan’s face had turned bright red and his mouth was slightly agape, his shock not diminishing in the slightest.  Behind him, Aramis and Porthos were trying to conceal their snickers and even Athos was poorly attempting to hide a smirk at the boy’s embarrassment. 

“Mama, please…,” d’Artagnan pleaded when the surprise wore off.  He wasn’t allowed to finish though as his mother interrupted.  Athos recognised the signs of a woman on a mission and felt the barest hints of sympathy for the boy. 

“Don’t you turn those eyes on me, they will not work!”  She took a step forward and instead of embracing her child like many mothers would, delivered a sharp smack to the back of her son’s head. 

“Ow!” d’Artagnan rubbed the back of his head with a grimace but his mother was unsympathetic. 

“You owe me an apology right now.”

“Well I would have given one had you let me finish instead of interrupting,” d’Artagnan muttered and his mother’s eyes narrowed on him. 

“What was that?”  She asked sharply.

Shrinking into himself slightly, d’Artagnan averted his gaze and said, “Sorry mother.”

“As well you should be!  You have a lot of explaining to do my boy…but oh, first you must introduce me to these fine, strapping gentlemen.”  d’Artagnan’s mother turned to the trio with interested eyes. 

“My name is Aramis,” Aramis said as he stood, giving d’Artagnan’s mother a charming smile and taking her hand so he press a kiss upon it.  “This is Porthos, and he is Athos.  We are friends of your son.”

Isabelle giggled at the kiss and looked at the three men appraisingly.

“Well, my son could certainly have done worse.  You may call me Isabelle.  Tell me, has he got into my trouble since he’s been here?”

d’Artagnan’s head shot up at that and he silently signalled to his friends to keep quiet wide, panicked gestures.  Of course, the good friends that they were, they assured him they would with nods and d’Artagnan gave them a grateful smile in return.  However, d’Artagnan should have learnt by now that his friends were not the most honest of men and any chance for mischief could not be left untaken.

“Not really.  Oh, there was that one time he tried to kill Athos upon meeting him,” Porthos said, a finger tapping thoughtfully against his chin. 

“What?”  Isabelle swivelled and pierced her son, who was currently glaring daggers at Porthos, with an intense stare.  “Is this true?”

“Well, yes, but…please let me explain!”  He begged, trying to stop another rant.  “There may have been a…misunderstanding but I assure you that everything was sorted out and it is fine now!”

His words did nothing to please Isabelle.  “Anything else I should know?” She asked.

Athos could see Aramis toying with an idea, most likely thinking of the mission with Vadim but he wisely kept quiet.  Telling Isabelle how close her son came to death would not be humorous in the slightest.

“No, I would say that’s all,” Aramis ended up saying.   

“Good.  You have no idea what he was like as a child, always running around picking fights with the other children.  They always deserved it of course, my son was no bully after all, but my, what a temper he had!”  Isabelle confided to them with exasperation. 

 

Porthos laughed.  “I believe he still has that temper madam, it is what caused Athos to be on the wrong end of his sword after all!”

 

Isabelle gave a woeful sigh.  “I do try and tell him to rein it in but it never seems to work.  I have no idea where he gets it from…”

“I wonder,” d’Artagnan muttered sarcastically, rolling his eyes.  The words may have been spoken quietly but Isabelle appeared to have the hearing of a hawk as she once more faced him.

“Do not take that tone with me young man,” she ordered, the temper of which d’Artagnan was calling hypocrisy over returning.

“…Sorry mother.”

It was strange, Athos mused, how quickly d’Artagnan changed when his mother was around.  It was not as if d’Artagnan didn’t have his childish moments around them but with his mother around they were much more obvious and frequent.  It was not a bad thing though, even though d’Artagnan was being rebuked and embarrassed, the love he had for his mother was quite evident. 

“You needn’t be so hard on the lad,” Athos said, taking some pity on the boy.  “He has been a fine addition to our small team and I have no doubt he will be a fine Musketeer that any mother would be proud of.”

Isabelle then did something rather unexpected considering her previous behaviour.  She burst into tears and gathered d’Artagnan in a tight hug.  A panicked expression overtook d’Artagnan’s face as he hesitantly returned the hug, patting her back gently.

“Don’t cry mama, please…”

“Oh, my boy!  Look at what you’ve got for yourself here! I know I have been harsh but I am proud of you and I know your father would be too if he could see you now.”

d’Artagnan bit his lip and hugged his mother tighter.  Sensing that they were now intruding on a personal moment, the three men went to leave but before they could get further than a few feet they were stopped. 

“No! Stay, stay.  Look, see, I have already stopped crying!  I want to find out more about the men my son has befriended.  Especially you.”  Isabelle sent Aramis a wink causing a strangled noise to come out of d’Artagnan.

“Mama! Aramis is barely half your age!”

“And does that not mean I cannot have a little fun?  Especially after the extremely stressful time I have had no thanks to a certain son of mine?”  Isabelle questioned with a raised eyebrow. 

“Well, no…,” d’Artagnan said, cheeks colouring, “but…”

“Then there is no problem!”  Isabelle clapped her hands brightly, ignoring d’Artagnan’s horrified face.  “Now come along, tell me everything that has happened…”  Isabelle latched onto Aramis’ arm and the two began walking off.  d’Artagnan turned to Athos and Porthos with a pained expression. 

Porthos grinned and clapped d’Artagnan on the back.  “Come on then, let’s follow them, lest you start calling Aramis ‘papa’”.


	2. Accidental Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> d'Artagnan had never intended for his mother to find out that he had been tied to explosives, but then, luck never really was on his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the result of Arya54 asking for a chapter about his mother finding out about Vadim.

It had been a long, long day.  Isabelle had been incessant with her questions to the Musketeers and they had dutifully told her everything that had occurred since d’Artagnan arrived in Paris, leaving out many of the more distressing details of course.  In return, Isabelle had shared her own stories of when d’Artagnan was a small lad which had made the young man blush profusely and given the Musketeers teasing ammunition for years.  Finally though, night fell and Isabelle was tired from her journey.  d’Artagnan had offered her his room but Constance informed them that there was a spare one available for her to use as long as she wished. 

“She is a pretty one, isn’t she?” Isabelle had smirked to her son, winking at him and before d’Artagnan could reply with a well-rehearsed indignant response, she left to wash up.

Now that they had finally been left alone, d’Artagnan hesitantly turned to his friends. 

“Alright, out with it.  Tease me, taunt me, I know you want to,” he said resignedly.

Porthos put on a face of mock innocence.  “Why, I don’t know what you are talking about.  Why would we do such a thing?  After all, don’t all little boys scavenge through their mother’s belongings and try on her make-up?”

“Don’t forget the dresses,” Aramis added and quickly the two men were in hysterics.  Athos himself didn’t laugh but when d’Artagnan looked for him for help he smirked causing the boy to huff and his face to turn red. 

“I will get revenge for this,” he murmured, “just you wait and see.”

“At least we didn’t speak of Vadim,” Athos consoled, once the laughter had died down. “I doubt your mother would have been pleased to hear that you were tied to explosives.”

d’Artagnan gave a relieved nod.  “I suppose, you…”

“He was _what?_ ”

Somehow, Isabelle had managed to return downstairs without any of them noticing, just in time to hear those last few words.  The four friends startled in surprise and faced her with alarmed expressions.

“Oh hell,” Porthos muttered.

“Athos was just joking Mama…”

“Do not try that with me Charles d’Artagnan.  I know the tone of a serious man and that man was not joking!  Why were you trapped to explosives?  How did you escape?  Are you alright?  Were you hurt?  Why on Earth did you allow him to get tied to a bomb?!”  Isabelle had rambled a majority of these questions whilst simultaneously fussing over d’Artagnan and practically trying to undress him, however the last question was directed at the three Musketeers who were trying to make a quick escape. 

“Why, of course we wouldn’t allow it on purpose,” Aramis hastily assured the woman when they realised there was no hope of getting away.  “Our job is not without risk as I’m sure you know…d’Artagnan was merely doing his duty and as you can see he is perfectly fine…”  Aramis turned pleading eyes on Porthos and Athos but they were content to let the man handle this, even if the turn ‘handle’ was used loosely.    

 _“You let my son get tied to explosive!”_ Isabelle hissed, unimpressed with the excuse and advancing on a very terrified Athos like a predator stalking prey.  This was a far cry from the woman Aramis had been playfully flirting with.  This was a concerned, protective mother, more fearsome than any war-hardened soldier. 

“Mama, please, I chose to get involved.  This is not their fault.  If you blame anyone, blame me,” d’Artagnan said, placing a hand on her shoulder which was quickly shaken off.

“Oh don’t think I’m not blaming you either young man.  You, once again, have a lot of explaining to do but that does not excuse the fact that these men almost let you die!”

“Please, madam, we did not leave d’Artagnan to die,” Athos intervened, hoping he would have more luck in calming the enraged woman.  “We did not know where d’Artagnan was and rest assured, had we known then we would have gone to him in an instant.  Aramis is correct, our job carries many risks and d’Artagnan will most likely be involved in even more dangerous situations when he becomes an official Musketeer.  It is something you will unfortunately have to come to terms with.”

Isabelle narrowed her eyes at Athos who stared back unfazed, though his heart was beating a bit too fast for his liking. 

“I am not an ignorant woman.  I realise that my son does not have the safest occupation.  It is something I came to terms with many years ago when I realised he was too spirited and passionate for a quiet, harmless job.  It is just another thing to hear about it, to know how close my son came to death when to me he is still my little boy, _mon[trésor](http://french.about.com/library/media/wavs/tresor.wav)_.  I know you cannot promise me his safety but regardless, it would be in your best interest to keep an eye on my son, otherwise you will have to answer to me.”

“Mother, I do not need a keeper,” d’Artagnan argued.  “I am perfectly capapble…”

“Quiet you,” Isabelle interrupted .  “Are we clear?”  She asked the three men. 

Athos swallowed, his heart if anything had started to beat faster.  “Perfectly.”

“Good.  Now you young man are coming with me and we are going to have a long talk about why you should not be tied to explosives and why, if I do not heart from you at least every month to get an update about what has been happening, I might very well move here!”

With that she grasped d’Artagnan by the ear and began to pull him upstairs to her room, dismissing his whine of pain and dismayed cry of “Mama!”  That left the three Musketeers alone to digest everything that had happened.

“I don’t know about you,” Porthos began, “but I think we need to lock d’Artagnan up somewhere so nothing can hurt him.  That woman is absolutely terrifying and I don’t think I could handler her living here.”

Aramis and Athos nodded.  “Agreed.”

And so while d’Artagnan received the longest rebuke of his life, his three friends spent the night thinking of way to make sure they _never_ got on the wrong side of Isabelle again.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mon trésor= My treasure 
> 
> I know it wasn't really adorable as I mainly focused on the whole 'tied to explosives' thing and Isabelle's temper came out again.


	3. Mothers and Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After finding out he's been commissioned, Isabelle is ready to surprise her son with her visit but instead of arriving healthy, he arrives in the arms of Porthos, shot and unconscious.

Excitement brimmed within Isabelle’s veins as she waiter inside her son’s room.  Since finding out that Charles had been commissioned into the Musketeers and gaining the approval of the King no less, Isabelle knew it was time for another trip to Paris.  As Isabelle had so enjoyed the look of surprise on her son’s face that last time she visited unannounced she wanted to do it again, this time for much more joyous occasion.  His friends and the lovely Constance had been kind enough to help arrange things and she was extremely grateful to the young woman for allowing her entry to her home once more, especially as her and her husband were away for the night. 

The sun was beginning to set and Isabelle smiled.  According to her written discussions with Athos, they should be returning soon.  Part of her wanted to pace to get rid of some of the adrenaline she had but she didn’t want to reveal her presence too early by the noise it would produce. Minutes continued to pass and the sun began to set lower and lower, causing an uneasy feeling to settle in the pit of her stomach.  She tried to ignore it; they must have just got caught up in talking to someone, she told herself, but if anything the unease grew stronger and Isabelle had never been one to disregard her instincts.

She was proven right when she heard the door open with a crack and a panicked voice echoed throughout the house.   

“Get him inside his room quickly!  He has lost a lot of blood already.”

Isabelle recognised Aramis’ voice and his words were followed by the sound of thundering footsteps up the stairs.  Blood running icy cold, Isabelle jumped from the bed and pressed herself against the wall to be out of the way.  Her fears were confirmed when the door slammed open and in came Porthos carrying her unconscious child.  Charles’ face was deathly pale and waxy in complexion.  As Porthos set him on the bed her eyes scanned his body in search of the wound until they locked onto his thigh which was bleeding profusely.

“What happened?”  No one even seemed to notice her as they fussed over Charles but then, her voice had been nothing more than a whisper.  “What happened?!”

With the whisper becoming a shriek, she gained the attention of all three men.  Athos was the one who approached her, his mouth set in a grim, apologetic line.

“I am truly sorry madam.  d’Artagnan was involved in a duel just now and his challenger pulled out a gun when he had lost.  It was completely unacceptable and dishonourable and he has been arrested.  He will pay for his crime, you can rest assured of that.”

Right then, Isabelle didn’t care much with what happened to the offender, she was far more concerned with her son. 

“Will he live?”  She asked; her eyes unable to stay away from Charles. 

“The bullet ran straight through.”  This time it was Aramis who answered, his focus concentrated on the injured leg.  Rather than just answering her, he seemed to be making his observations aloud.  “He has lost a lot of blood but the wound will be easy to stitch.  I have great hope that he will make a full recovery.”  Aramis sounded just as relieved as Isabelle felt and she took this opportunity to head over to her son.  Porthos quickly moved away, giving her space to sit by Charles and take his limp hand.  Aramis spared her a quick, sad smile before setting about removing Charles’ trousers so he would have clear access to the wound. 

“Oh my dear sweet boy,” Isabelle murmured, stroking Charles’ cheek with her free hand.  Her eyes drifted over his new uniform and she gave a watery smile.  “They were right when they said becoming a Musketeer would lead to more trouble, weren’t they.”  Carefully, Isabelle leant over and pressed a soft kiss against Charles’ forehead.

Now reassured that her son would live, the circumstances that led to his condition returned to her mind. 

“Athos, you said he was involved in a duel?”  Isabelle clarified, turning her attention to the man. 

Athos nodded.  “It was with a new recruit, Armel.  He was jealous of how quickly d’Artagnan had joined our rank and had been pestering him for days until today when d’Artagnan suggested they settle it with a duel.  While duals are frowned upon, it is usually the best answer for this sort of issue as long as no one is gravely injured and so we saw no harm in it.  We knew d’Artagnan would best Armel and that was proven when the fight occurred.  Very quickly Armel had d’Artagnan’s sword against his throat except instead of accepting his defeat, Armel brought out the gun he had hidden when d’Artagnan’s back was turned.  It is thanks to Porthos knocking his hand that the bullet struck his leg instead of its intended target.  I am very sorry this happened madam, especially under our watch.”

Though Isabelle felt rage unlike anything she had experienced before, it was not aimed towards the men in the room.  With a final stroke of Charles’ hand, she stood up and walked towards a slightly terrified Porthos. Instead of shouting at him like she knew he expected her to, she flung herself at him, gathering him in a hug.  After a few seconds, hands tentatively rested on her back and she squeezed him tighter. 

“Thank you for stopping him from killing my son.  I am forever grateful,” she whispered.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Porthos replied, his voice turning a bit gruffer.  “I only wish I could have stopped the bastard from hitting him altogether.” 

“Even so, thank you.”

Isabelle released Porthos from her grip and faced Athos.

“I wish to see this Armel.”  She said firmly. 

Athos’ eyebrows rose.  “I do not believe that is wise madam.  I assure you, he is being held behind bars and will face just punishment for his crimes.”

“I do not doubt that, but I still wish to see him.”

“Would you not prefer to stay with d’Artagnan?”  Athos argued. 

Isabelle’s gaze turned towards her son.  Aramis must have given him a tonic of some sort as he barely stirred as the needle pierced his skin. 

“Aramis, do you believe he will wake in the near future, say within the next few hours?” 

Aramis shook his head.  “No, I have given him a sleeping draft to save him feeling any pain.  I do not expect he will wake until morning at the earliest.”

“Then he will not miss me for a few hours.  I wish to see Armel now then,” Isabelle repeated and though he still looked very against the idea, Athos gave her a grudging nod. 

“As you wish.”

“We will stay with d’Artagnan,” Porthos promised, gesturing to himself and Aramis. 

“Thank you.  Shall we be off then?”  Athos gave her another nod and the two left the house. 

Though night was drawing closer, Isabelle felt no fear as she travelled through the streets of Paris.  She was with one of the best Musketeers of the regiment, if her son’s words were to be believed, and Isabelle herself was in no mood for any more trouble to occur. Athos led her safely through the thin, winding roads until they ended up outside what Isabelle assumed must be the prison. 

“I will ask where he has been allocated.  Just stay behind me.”

Isabelle did as he asked and stayed silent as Athos asked one of the guards where Armel was being held.  The guard questioned her presence but Athos just told him she was involved in the case and that was all he needed to know.  Though that earned her a confused stare, he fortunately allowed them both through and they stopped outside a small, dark cell.  The few candles around gave her limited sight but she was able to make out the form of a boy sitting against the wall, manacles around his wrists. Isabelle couldn’t be sure but he didn’t look more than seventeen or eighteen with dirt dusted blonde hair and wide eyes that stared up at them with frightened, confused eyes. During any other circumstance, Isabelle would have felt sorry for the boy but those feelings were hard to come by when she knew Armel would have killed her son had he been able to. 

“You can leave us,” Athos said to the guard and he did so, with one last look at Isabelle.

“What do you want?”  Armel asked.  His tone was both scared and resigned.  The boy could not have been in prison for more than a half hour yet he already acted like a man who had spent many a year there.  Well, if the court had any say, he would become one. 

“I suppose you do not know who I am,” Isabelle began and Armel shook his head.  “I am mother of the man you just attempted to kill.”

Armel’s eyes widened and he seemed to shrink into himself further, his arms clasping tighter around his legs. 

“Tell me, do you have a mother boy, one that is alive?”

Armel stayed silent and Athos knocked against the bars, sending out a loud bang which jolted the boy. 

“Answer her.”

Eyes flickering between Athos and Isabelle, Armel just nodded.

“And you love her?” 

Another nod. 

“I wonder what she is doing now.  Most likely she has not heard word of what has occurred and is preparing to retire to bed.  Maybe she is settling against the pillows and her thoughts are drifting to her son, wondering how he has got on today with his good, honourable job.  I imagine she must be very proud of you, like any mother would be.  I wonder how that will all change when she hears what you tried to do.  I assume she would be sad, horrified even that her kind, little boy would dare do such a despicable thing. 

“My mother loves me,” Armel interrupted and Isabelle could just make out the beginnings of tears in his eyes.

“I am sure she does and even with this hideous crime she will probably continue to do so.  Disappointment, however, is another matter entirely.  How will she feel, knowing that the son she raised is an attempted murderer?  That he is now condemned to the cell of a prison rather than the one she hoped for him.  It is a life no mother wishes for her child and you have sentenced her to that.  Once she could have bragged to her friends about her son; now she will keep silent.  No longer will she get to embrace you, provide you one of her special home cooked meals.  All because you tried to kill my boy.  Was it really worth it?”

Tears now streamed down Armel’s cheeks.  “I wasn’t aiming to kill…it just wasn’t fair…,” he muttered.  He tucked his head to his knees, looking like he was trying to barricade himself from the world.   

“It wasn’t fair for my son to nearly lose his life thanks to your petty jealousy either,” Isabelle snapped.  “You do not know whether you would have killed him or not.  Imagine how your mother would have felt if you were the victim of this and the shot had been fatal, accident or not.  How her heart would have torn as she realised that she would never get to see her son again, never get to hold him in her arms or see him achieve a full, fulfilling life of his own.  It is a mother’s worst nightmare to have a child see God before them and you nearly made that nightmare a reality for me.  Do you have anything to say for yourself?”  Isabelle’s voice had become choked at the end but she pressed on, determined to make this boy understand what he actions had nearly caused.

Slowly, Armel’s head rose.  His eyes were rimmed a dark red and tears continued to flow from them. 

“I…I am sorry.”

“As well you should be.  I just hope your mother’s heart has not been broken irreparably.  Athos, I believe I am ready to leave. “

Taking her arm, Athos escorted her from the building, leaving the crying boy behind. 

“I know you may not think what I did necessary, that it was a waste of time, but I thank you for taking me there,” Isabelle said. 

Athos shook his head.  “I do not think it was wasted time at all.  You may have just given him a worst punishment than any man could have.”

“Well, he did nearly kill my son,” Isabelle sniffed.

“I was not saying it was a bad thing,” Athos replied.  “But your words have made me feel the need to apologise once more for the danger d’Artagnan was put in today.  I would not want you to have to go through that and I apologise for nearly allowing it to happen.”

Isabelle stopped Athos with a press of her hand against his shoulder. 

“Were you not the one who told me that my son’s life would be constantly put in peril from the dangers of being a Musketeer?  I will admit I was not expecting it to come in the form of a jealous boy but all the same, do not apologise for things that are out of your control.  You allowed nothing to happen.  My guess is that even if you’d tried to stop him d’Artagnan would have still duelled that boy only instead of Porthos being there to stop him, the bullet would have struck its mark.  You did all I could have asked of you Athos and more.  You should see the way my son speaks of you in his letters.  He thinks of you so highly and I must thank you for being there for him while I am not.  You and your friends have done so much for my son.  Why, you may as well be family. 

Just like she had done with Porthos, Isabelle gave Athos a warm embrace coupled with a kiss on the cheek. 

“You have taken great care of my boy Athos and there are no words that can express how thankful I am for your presence in his life.”

Athos’ grip on her tightened and if Isabelle had felt a slight wetness on her shoulder, she made no comment on it, only let the hug continue until Athos was ready to let go. 

“You need not thank me madam.  d’Artagnan is a good man and it is an honour to know him. It is no wonder though, considering he is your son.”

“You’re too kind Athos,” Isabelle said as the hug broke.  “And speaking of my son, we best get back to him.”

By the time they returned it was well and truly night and the sight she was met with made her heart warm.  Just as they’d promised, Porthos and Aramis had stayed with her son and currently they were curled around him protectively as they slept.  Charles’ head was cradled in Porthos’ lap where he leant against the wall and Aramis was tucked against his side that was not next to his injured leg. 

Rather than disturb them, Isabelle just quietly picked up a stool and placed it next to the bed so she could take Charles’ hand in hers and rest against the wall.  Her body would probably not thank her for the uncomfortable position in the morning but there was no way Isabelle would be leaving her son’s bedside again.  Just as quietly, Athos copied her so he was sitting opposite, giving her a small smile which she returned.  Seeing these three men who all clearly cared for her son, Isabelle knew her son not only had his mother’s love, but that of his brothers as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be some medical inaccuracies here and inaccuracies with how Armel would be dealt with but I just really wanted to write something else involving Isabelle.

**Author's Note:**

> So, the beginning of this was actually just a random beginning for any fic I started and that's why it may seem a bit random. I still like it though and wanted to use it for something, so here it went!


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